The penthouse is drowning in the city's night glow. Glass walls turn Santerra into a living set: lights breathe, cars crawl like fireflies, and far below people live their small, honest lives. I lie naked on the king-sized bed, on cool sheets, and feel like a queen of lies—beautiful, dangerous, far too confident to stop.
Kaiden sits beside me, propped on one elbow. His eyes shine as if he's won the lottery, and the grand prize is me.
That frightens me more than any security detail ever could.
I reach for him slowly, lazily, like a cat that knows it is already loved. I wrap my arms around him, feeling his warmth, his caution, his delight. He leans into me in return, as if afraid I might vanish if he blinks.
"Isabella… you're a gift from fate," he says quietly, almost reverently. "With you, I feel thirty years younger."
And damn it—I believe him.
In this moment, I do.
"I love you too, I respect you, and I trust you, Kaiden," I answer softly. Too softly.
And then I catch myself blinking faster than usual.
One.
Two.
Three.
A tell. My tell. I know it too well.
Kaiden doesn't.
I slip out of his arms and rise from the bed. Cold air brushes my skin, and I deliberately walk slowly, letting his gaze slide over me without resistance. I sway my hips just a little. Not vulgar. Just enough to steal his breath.
I turn my head, catch his eyes, hold them a second longer than necessary. Then I pull on a silk robe—as if I'm locking away a treasure, not merely covering myself.
"What would you like to drink?" I ask innocently, as if there's neither passion nor a crime between us.
"Fruit juice with ice," he answers, relaxed. Too relaxed.
I walk to the refrigerator. My heels click softly on the floor, counting down the seconds to my possible death.
And then—
The panel.
The junction box.
The fiber-optic cable.
There. It. The device.
My heart stumbles.
Remove it. I have to remove it.
Now.
Or never.
Panic flares in my head, sticky and cold. When I installed the device, the security system was disabled—once. Carefully. Cleanly.
If I do it again, they'll check everything.
Logs.
Timestamps.
External interference.
And then…
Then there will be no silk robe, no platinum cards, no beautiful restaurants.
There will be the end.
My palms betray me, slick with sweat. I grip the fridge door a little harder than necessary and force myself to breathe evenly. Calm down, Isabella. You're an actress. You've always been an actress.
I pour the juice. Add ice. My hands tremble, but I smile at my reflection in the glass.
A perfect smile. Almost honest.
I return to Kaiden, hand him the glass, leaning in so the robe parts just enough to reveal my leg. Just a little. Like an accident. Like a promise.
He smiles gratefully and takes the glass.
The danger retreats one step. Just one.
We drink. The ice clinks softly, like a fragile alibi. I sit beside him, closer than necessary, and our lips find each other again. The kiss is slow, gentle, almost tender. I let myself dissolve into it—for a second. For two.
You have to decide, something whispers inside me.
And very soon.
While Kaiden is still certain I am his happiness.
While he still doesn't know that betrayal lives in his house.
**
Morning sunlight floods the penthouse with a soft glow, as if the city itself has decided to play along with our mood. I stand by the panoramic window, barefoot on the cold marble, feeling anxiety and sweet anticipation coil together inside me. Kaiden looks at me with that enigmatic gaze of his—the one that always makes me feel as if I'm either on the verge of receiving a gift or standing at the edge of an abyss.
"What are you plotting? Confess," I laugh, trying to sound light, as if my pulse isn't racing inside my chest.
He smiles with just one corner of his mouth. Slowly. Precisely. That kind of smile belongs to people who are used to keeping aces up their sleeve.
"You, Isabella, are remarkably perceptive," he says. "You see straight through people. And that's exactly why… I have a surprise for you."
A surprise. The word hits me like a flipped switch. My mind instantly spins through dozens of scenarios—from diamonds to handcuffs. I narrow my eyes, pretending it's all just a game.
"What kind of surprise?" I drawl, leaning against the back of a chair, deliberately accentuating the curve of my hip. If this is an interrogation, I know how to conduct one too.
"Get dressed. We're going out."
The intrigue tightens like a noose. I don't ask unnecessary questions—experience has taught me that silence is sometimes safer than words. I slip into a dress quickly, catching his gaze in the mirror. He's watching me. Not like a predator—like a collector.
The elevator descends endlessly. The mirrored walls reflect the two of us: Kaiden—mature, confident—and me, far too calm to be honest. My heart beats up in my throat. If he knows… if he knows, then why is he so calm?
We step outside. The warm air of Santerra brushes against my skin. A limousine is waiting by the entrance—black, immaculate, as flawless as his reputation.
"After you," Kaiden says, gesturing for me to get in.
This is it, a thought flashes through my mind. Either everything gets better now… or worse than ever.
I sit down, careful not to reveal how tense my shoulders are. The car pulls away. He's beside me. His hand almost touches mine, but doesn't. That silence presses harder than any question.
The city dissolves behind the windows, and suddenly I realize—we're leaving Santerra. The road widens. Calms. Grows more dangerous.
"Kaiden…" I begin, but he cuts me off.
"Soon," he says gently.
The airport. A private terminal. My heart flips. Fear blends with excitement—a dangerous mix that makes my head spin.
The plane is white, sleek, swift—like a promise of escape.
"We're flying to New York," he finally says, watching my reaction.
I clap my hands, laugh, throw my arms around his neck—perfectly performed delight. Generosity should be rewarded. Especially this kind.
But somewhere deep inside, another thought stirs.
What if this isn't a gift… but a test?
The plane begins its takeoff. The ground falls away beneath my feet. The city stays below, like past versions of myself. I fasten my seatbelt, catch his gaze, and smile.
The game goes on.
But which of us is leading—him, or me?